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The urge to remind him that he may have been with us physically but his mind was always stuck on business has me biting my tongue. Instead, I take a sip of my water until the impulse washes away.
“Enough about work,” says my mom, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you hear Saranya’s older daughter got engaged? I hear the boy is from a good business family.”
No ‘how have you been, Bianca?’ Or ‘why have you been distant lately?’ And ‘did anything exciting happen to you?’
It only ever circles back to marriage, whether it’s about mine or any daughter of one of her random friends. Lately, it’s all she wants to gossip about as if it’ll entice or guilt me into saying yes. Like it’s a race I’m losing.
If she knew that it only takes Arya’s heartbreak to convince my mind to marry, she would’ve done it a long time ago.
My dad, who usually avoids partaking in her gossip, says, “He was interested in our Bianca and would have been a perfect match. At this rate, hardly a good match will be left for you.”
The last part was directed to me and it takes years of practice not to shrink under his gaze. He even rests his tablet on the side so I don’t miss the severity of his statement. My mom nods her head in agreement from beside him.
It’s like being faced against two determined bulls with no chance of survival.
I feel like I’m reduced to a prized possession that they can’t wait to get rid of. Oftentimes, I wonder if I’m just a liability to my father that he wants to pass forward before I lose my value. And right now, it seems like his comment is proof enough of that.
The most hurtful is them, especially Mom, not even caring to ask if I’m ready or if there’s a reason behind my reluctance. All that matters is their reputation in society while my sentiments are irrelevant.
Well, it doesn’t really matter now anyway.
Their lifelong wish is about to come true.
“Your father means well, sweetie,” Mom explains before asking, “Did you see the profiles of the boys I sent from Priya Aunty? There are some great matches. Maybe you could meet one of them.”
Priya Aunty is a matchmaker my parents hired despite me saying no several times to search for the love of my life. She’s another woman besides my mom who’s even more eager for my marriage. After all, I’m the only one standing between her and a hefty fee if she succeeds in her matchmaking.
At least, one of us will be having a happy day because until now, I had no intention of touching that list.
“It’s actually the reason I wanted to meet you both.” My tone instantly sparks an excited glint in my mom’s gaze. Though she tries to hide it, it’s unmistakable. My dad, on the other hand, only watches with an unreadable expression. “Well, I’ve decided t—”
I trail off when a shadow falls over our table, stealing my parents’ attention.
“Hi, wifey.”
The low and husky voice raises goosebumps on my arms and my heart stops beating for a second when I look up to meet Dash’s soft green eyes. The color is so light under the morning sunlight that I’d be able to see my reflection if he was just a breath closer.
His hair, which is slightly longer in the middle, falls onto his forehead, softening his edges only marginally, while my own eyes devour his dashing and masculine beauty in a three-piece suit. Navy blue, which only brings out the color of his eyes, seems to be his favorite color.
Black sunglasses hang from his suit pocket while his muscles are barely confined and hidden beneath his expensive clothes. I’m still admiring every little detail about him when his words hit me like a freight train.
He called me wifey. Wifey! What the fuck!
Wait… Did he change his decision?
My eyes widen both in shock and confusion, much like my parents, whom I can sense are going through the same emotions as me. Well, minus the drooling over Dash part.
“Dash.” His name is a breathless whisper on my tongue.
As if he can sense my inner turmoil from my voice, he takes the lead before I blow our cover. I try to process what is happening internally, but many freaking questions seem to be fighting to come out to the surface.
“Sorry I’m late, my love,” he softly speaks before bending down to take my palm and kissing the back of it as he sits down on the empty chair beside me. The movement is effortless and natural like we’ve done it a million times. “Still getting used to the traffic.”
My love. Jesus. Is this how he flirts when he’s being nice? I have to be dreaming that this is the same man I’ve been chasing and fighting my lust over the past few weeks. The man from yesterday might as well be a figment of my imagination.
A disillusion.
A dream.
